It's Only A Paper Moon
by Lady.Bronte
Summary: Jim smiled and dipped the brim of his fedora, "Mr. Spock, did I mention that you look particularly handsome in that suit of yours?" Loosely based off of TOS episode "A Piece of the Action".


"A Piece of the Action" was by far one of the most hilarious TOS episodes of all time. Anyone who's ever seen this episode can agree with me when I say that young Nimoy with a Tommy gun was hysterical to watch. I feel as if Star Trek just isn't Star Trek without the goofy costumes so I really hope that, at some point, the nu!Trek characters get their dress up on!

With that said, here's a little fun inspired by my jazz collection. I had Sinatra and Take Five on constant rotation during the entire duration of writing this zany mess of Chicago crazy...

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**It's Only a Paper Moon**

The streets were quiet and only the faint, jazzy melodies of a rhythm and blues tune tainted the gentle summer wind. A young couple hurried arm and arm down the vacant boulevard, their voices muffled in each other's yearning embrace. The moon, ample in the sky, shone down upon the warm nightscape in ivory hues, lighting the whole street up like New York City on Christmas Eve.

Two strangers in the night stood sentinel by the crooked doors of a shaded bar, each figure clutching a pistol loosely in their hands. Their eyes were carefully hidden beneath the pinstriped brims of their fedora hats, shading their faces from prying, unwelcome eyes. The taller of the two men worked a toothpick between his teeth with his tongue, smiling despite himself.

"I've been a pauper, a pirate, a poet, but never a gangster," the taller man grinned and glanced sidelong at his partner, the scowl evident on his face despite the convenient shadow, "Does it suit me?"

"Christ! Can it Al Capone," the other man growled in return, not taking his eyes off the seemingly abandoned concrete avenue, "You'll blow our cover."

"Are you serious?" the taller man spun his pistol around his index finger and caught the handle expertly in his palm, holstering the silver handgun into his vintage leather belt, "There's not a soul in sight."

"That's what you think," the other man grumbled, further hunching in on himself. He scanned the streets under his scrutinizing glare until he was satisfied before turning towards his partner and tightening his grip on his pistol, "I'm gonna kill Jim for this. We haven't seen a case of tuberculosis in centuries and I swear if somebody contracts it while we're on this god forsaken whatever the hell this place is, I'm going to resign and see how that idiot does without me."

"Now doctor," the man dipped his fedora casually, offering his comrade a look that could only be described as debonair, "It's not often we get to visit a planet like Sigma Iotia II. I mean, look at this! Prohibition-era Chicago!"

Doctor McCoy didn't share the young officer's enthusiasm, "Yeah? And at anytime we can get shot to death with one of those damn Tommy guns before I can say Tennessee out my asshole."

The young officer laughed and leant back against the building behind him, propping the heel of one of his Italian leather shoes against the grout of the crumbling bricks. He snapped his fingers to the beat of the faint jazzy music still pouring from a radio some distance away and bobbed his head in harmony, "When in Rome Doctor, do what the Romans do."

"Easy for you to say," McCoy grumbled, turning his cantankerous glower towards the streets once again, "You actually like this crap."

The man opposite of him scoffed, "How can you not like history? It's fascinating, learning about all the stupid things we did in the past. I mean, World War Three? Have you ever read some of the reports that came out of that thing? The political debates between the U.S. and China were incredible!"

"Christ," McCoy muttered, glancing over at the costumed helmsman with a poorly disguised grimace splattered all over his face, "You're starting to sound like that damn hobgoblin."

Sulu smirked, offering the doctor a patronizing glance, "You're starting to sound like my grandfather. And he's one hundred and twelve."

"Goddamn medicine," McCoy grumbled, returning the glance with equal disdain, "So I'm an old fuck. Next time you come in on death's doorstep I'll have a bout of Alzheimer's."

The helmsman snorted, his head falling backwards in laughter, "Kirk forgot to mention what a ray of sunshine you are."

Bones angled his head towards his partner in crime and smirked impishly, his eyes sparkling with a deviousness that only reared its ugly head during times like these, "Baby, that's life."

A cloud of heavy cigar smoke hung over the deserted, sullied bar and there was nothing but the crooning of a tenor coronet playing off the record table in the corner to break the din. The bartender sat silently near the amplifying horn, tapping his foot against his stool and smoking a rolled cigarette. His balding head shone in the dim lights of the watering hole as he pretended not to listen to the conversation taking place only tables away.

Jim turned his attention from the bartender and back to the matter at hand – a man, sitting opposite of him, hunched over his gin and tonic with a smirk on his face.

"Alright Oxmyx. I'm listening."

The thirty year old some-odd gangster swirled the ice cubes in his glass and took another swig of the bubbling drink, taking no time at all in pouring it down his throat, "I'll provide you with the stuff, not a problem. But you know I'll need payment in return."

Jim stifled a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "Of course. Name your price."

Oxmyx leered into his drink, keeping his eyes locked on the blond in front of him, "A business man I see Mr. Kirk. I like a man who knows his business."

Jim smiled quickly in return, "You keep to your business and I'll keep to mine. What's your price?"

Oxmyx swallowed the rest of his drink and waved haphazardly at the bartender for another. As if on cue, the older man got up from his stool and began preparing the gangster another cocktail, "The playing field has been getting pretty level for some time. I need to get a leg up on Krako somehow and from what I've seen of those fancy heaters of yours, I think that might just do the trick."

"Our weapons?" Jim asked, reigning in his surprise before it could register on his face, "Trading weapons isn't really our style..."

Jim abruptly felt something press against his left kneecap and the unmistakable cock of a gun answered his question, "...until just recently!"

Oxmyx smiled complacently and pulled his handgun back into its holster somewhere beneath the table and away from Jim's vision. The young captain could only hope that perhaps the man beside him had a better point of view.

The Vulcan had remained virtually silent the entire time, speaking only during their initial greetings at the beginning of their 'dealings'. His chestnut fedora masked his pointed ears and slanted eyebrows well enough that he nearly appeared human and the smoky, muted atmosphere of the bar kept Oxmyx's eyes from prying beyond a quick glance here and there.

The gangster, however, knew nothing of the phaser aimed precariously towards the juncture of his inner thigh.

Set to stun, of course.

Settled smartly in his matching coffee jacket and crimson necktie, Spock spared a glance in his partner's direction and raised his eyebrow as if to say 'get on with it'.

"Well Mr. Kirk. It seems we're in business."

Oxmyx reached out to shake the young captain's hand, his own hovering just above the sticky wooden table where they currently resided. Jim reached forward impulsively, his fingers just inches away from the other gangster's fingers before he realized the grave mistake he had just made.

His right hand idle, his side completely vulnerable...

"Gentlemen!" Three armed men emerged from various corners of the bar, aiming their shining silver barrels towards the two men sitting opposite of Oxmyx. The older gangster sneered and reached up to grasp the neck of his fedora, lifting it on and off in a polite gesture that did nothing to compliment the conceited sneer on his face, "Relieve them of their weapons. And their lives."

Oxmyx pushed his stool away from the table and sashayed smugly to his feet, pressing his spent cigarette into the ash tray, "Sorry gentlemen. My boys wanted a piece of the action," Oxmyx sneered at them once more and began to walk away, pausing only to take the fresh drink from the bartender's hand and pour it down his gullet.

It was at this point that Spock decided it was time to act.

Firing his phaser at inhuman speed, Oxmyx was stunned in the lower back and crumbled to the floor in a muddled mess of limbs. The bartender, reaching instinctively for his own pistol hidden within the folds of his apron, was shot down as well, leaving him sprawled overtop of what Spock could only assume was his boss. The Vulcan ducked and brought his captain down with him as a volley of bullets ricocheted off of the picture frames behind them, sending a torrent of broken glass down onto their huddled forms. Spock pushed the table down onto its side to form a kind of feeble barrier between the gangsters while Jim busied himself with his own phaser, charging it up and setting it to stun.

Another volley of bullets was quickly shot in their direction, some of them penetrating the sticky wood surface and grazing the captain's flesh. He hissed in pain at the contact and looked down at his navy pinstriped suit, now ripped and stained with scarlet blood on the sleeve.

"You son of a bitch!" Jim exclaimed, staring in horror at the state of his jacket, "You ruined my suit!" The young captain rose from the questionable, makeshift defence and shot off his phaser in the direction of the closest thug, only to have the thing backfire on him mid-discharge. The internal explosion sent him flying backwards into a row of black and white images of a jazz band playing in a seedy, sleazy hostel.

"Are you alright Jim?" Spock enquired quickly, pulling the stunned captain into the relative safety of their shelter by his arms. The Vulcan spared a moment to glance above the confines and noticed that the thug his partner had been aiming at had been successfully brought down with the blast.

"Yeah...ugghh," Jim rubbed the back of his head where he had hit the wall the hardest with his hand and searched his leather belt with the other, quickly finding the object he was looking for. He pulled a silver pistol from its holster and flicked off the safety, throwing Spock the cheekiest smirk he could muster.

"Let's get down to business."

In one fluid motion, both officers rose just above their wooden barrier, their arms and weapons poised in front of them as they pulled their triggers in unison. The gunpowder from within the metal pistol easily drowned out the sound of the phaser as they took down the other two thugs, one of them barely missing Spock's left ear as the farther of the two made his final efforts. The two men fell with a resounding clunk to the floor, one in a state of shock and the other plainly dead.

Jim swallowed the rising bile in his throat and reasoned with himself that it had been a necessary evil.

Spock lifted himself off of his haunches and kept his phaser armed in his hands, his vigilant eyes examining the bodies of the three fallen thugs cautiously before walking up beside Oxmyx, whose own body was currently twitching subtly beneath the fallen bartender. The gangster glared upwards at the Vulcan with an unfaltering animosity that any human would have taken personally – nevertheless, Spock felt it to be rather...satisfying.

"By Federation order six one four point three six, you have the right to remain silent and seek council once in Federation space. You shall be charged on two counts of the attempted second degree murder of a StarFleet officer for which you will stand trial and likely spend the next twenty subsequent years in Federation custody. Your resistance will only result in further charges."

Hoisting the limp gangster off of the floor by his lapels, Jim made the order for the three of them to beam up. The young captain glanced over at the seemingly smug first officer, whose lips were just barely curled into a smirk.

"Mr. Spock," Jim smiled and dipped the brim of his fedora, "Did I mention that you look particularly handsome in that suit of yours?"

Spock turned his head slightly and raised one of his eyebrows in mirth, his lips coiling further into the telltale smile that roused Jim's thoughts in a way he wasn't sure StarFleet would consider appropriate.

"You... 'slay me' captain," Jim began to laugh hysterically and had to steady himself upon one of the bar tables to keep himself upright. Spock turned to him and dipped his head slightly, the brim of his fedora falling casually before his eyes. He pinched the lip of the chestnut hat between his fingers and locked eyes with the blond youth, the edges of his lips turned upwards in a devilish smirk.

"Cash or cheque?"

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Thanks for reading and please review!

Love and fluff,

Brontë 


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